


Deification

by AdventTraitor



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: M/M, Sinja, mythology AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-24
Updated: 2014-10-08
Packaged: 2018-01-26 07:56:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1680629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdventTraitor/pseuds/AdventTraitor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of the many Gods and Goddesses that are worshiped, Sinbad has perhaps the largest amount of intensely dedicated followers--but trouble brews quickly when immortals find themselves at an impasse, and Sinbad begins to rely more and more on his high priest to carry out his will in the mortal world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In the Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! This whole story is based very loosely on the whole idea of Greek and Roman mythology. I know where I want to go with this, but I'm not sure if this is a genre that will be appreciated very much...I guess if it gets enough good feedback, I'll continue with it. Thanks for reading!

Men and women alike inclined their heads in respect (some of them rather grudgingly) as Ja’far swept past, raising a hand to acknowledge them as he moved on. Some of the followers in the temple didn’t believe he deserved the title of High Priest, but how could they argue? Sinbad himself had appeared to the temple’s inhabitants and proclaimed Ja’far’s worthiness and had appointed him personally; still, that didn’t stop whispers behind his back, words like _murderer_ and _thief_ and _slut_ muttered just low enough they thought they were being stealthy, but Ja’far had a very keen sense of hearing. 

Luckily, it didn’t matter; Ja’far couldn’t deny that the insults were true, but he knew that part of his life was left in the past. Sinbad knew as well, and truly, his opinion was the only one that mattered.

Ja’far entered the inner sanctum, the inner most chamber of Sinbad’s temple, and locked the large doors behind him. Though he saw the artwork dedicated to his patron God every day and night, he always took a few moments to study it each time he returned. Sinbad was always depicted in one of two ways—the first, reclined lazily with wine or grapes, a smirk on his face and usually completely unclothed with a leaf or some such covering the important part (Ja’far rolled his eyes mentally), and the second in regal robes, adorned in fine cloth and sparkling jewelry, determination in his eyes with his long violet hair fanned out behind him, a turban and headpiece adorning his scalp and a sword either at his hip or held out before him in a challenging stance. It fit perfectly, as Sinbad was the God of Pleasure and Heroism.

A deep breath was inhaled, and Ja’far took off his outermost robes—ceremonial, heavy, and most of all difficult to move in—and hung them over to the side before he made his way to the center of the room, prostrating himself before the place Sinbad always appeared; a comfortable lounging chair that allowed him to lay down, with several plush pillows at the back for him to recline on. Ja’far, being the minimalist he’s always been, had always scoffed at Sinbad’s need for such a lavish décor, but he supposed being a deity had its perks, even if he thought it superfluous.

Ja’far rarely had to say the prayer anymore for Sinbad to notice his presence; he’d even told Ja’far that he often watched his movements if he had nothing else to take his attention (at which Ja’far had made a face), and true to form Sinbad appeared moments later, a smile on his lips as he waited for Ja’far to stand.

“You’re late today,” he observed, watching the robes slide down and back into place as Ja’far found his feet. “You’re not cheating on me, are you?”

Ja’far inclined his head, lacing his fingers before his chest in a sign of respect, answering with closed eyes. “I would not betray my sacred vows. Surely you know this by now,” he answered drily.

Ja’far didn’t have what most would consider a conventional relationship with his God; he’d always had a very high amount of disrespect for authority of any kind, and though he had come to trust and even worship the God before him, he didn’t waste time trying to flatter him or win his favor. Instead, he focused on what Sinbad needed of him, he carried out his requests and commands, and he gave all of himself to whatever Sinbad asked of him. To Ja’far, that was true worship. Begging for favor and proclaiming sweet nothings was selfish above all else, and he felt no guilt at all for publicly pointing this out the followers he saw straying from the path. It won him few friends, but again, that was not something he needed.

Sinbad cocked his head, his smirk dropping. “Kouen said he spoke to you.” His expression became impassive, the change from emotion to nothing almost startling. Ja’far tensed, but kept his hands up before him.

“He did,” Ja’far answered tentatively. “But my answer is the same as it always has been, and what it always will be.”

Kouen, God of Wrath and War, had been visiting Ja’far in his dreams recently. That was one way to ensure Sinbad couldn’t see what he was doing, and it angered his God to no end. He didn’t want Sinbad to leave suddenly as he’d done in the past when he had become too angry, so Ja’far continued. “It was nothing of any consequence. He asked me to come to his temple, but I politely refused. He is…trying to manipulate me into telling him why I stay with you, but I remain firm in my belief that it is none of his business. I told him as much, with a more amiable tone. And then I woke,” he finished, letting his arms fall to his sides once more.

Sinbad’s expression had become thoughtful, though the annoyance was still clear in his amber eyes. “I’m not surprised. The temples are the only other places we can have privacy from each other, after all…still, he would be tangible there. I know I’ve told you before, and I know you won’t, but do not go to his temple, no matter what he offers you or what kind of excuses he gives,” Sinbad ordered gently, beckoning Ja’far to him. He moved immediately, stepping up several stairs before he was pulled into Sinbad’s embrace, a strong hand stroking through his snowy white hair. “I don’t know if I’d ever get you back if you did…and you do, after all, belong to me.”

Ja’far nodded into Sinbad’s robes, inhaling deeply as his hands curled into the front of his robes. Something about Sinbad and all the other Gods and Goddesses was off-putting, something that let you know they were definitely not human. In just their form, it was hard to specify; their skin had a glow, almost a shimmer, but not quite. Their outlines seemed to be just a bit fuzzy, but looking at a specific point, everything was in focus. But their aura, to one who is trained to seek such things…it was intoxicating, how much power they could hold. And so close, wrapped in Sinbad’s arms with his senses full of nothing but his God, Ja’far nearly drowned. He melted, his muscles weak and his breathing becoming more labored as the seconds passed, his mind feeling nothing but warm and comfortable.

An amused chuckle escaped Sinbad as he looked down at the flush threatening to cover his priest’s freckles. “I seem to always forget what I do to you, no matter how often I visit,” he said mostly to himself, resituating Ja’far to sit on his lap, dark gray eyes unfocused. “Or perhaps I enjoy it a bit too much,” he muttered, leaning forward to press a kiss to one of Ja’far’s freckled cheeks.

Ja’far blinked, regaining some of his consciousness and pressing his hands to Sinbad’s broad chest, though he made no move to leave. “I know you’re the God of Pleasure, as you often remind me,” he started, trying not to pant too much between words, “but there are other things we need to discuss and—“ he slapped at a hand curling around his hip and grabbing at his ass, “and if I am to carry out your will, I must be able to walk!” he finished shrilly, making Sinbad laugh.

“This is true…but are my wants as well as my needs not a way of carrying out my will?” he asked lowly, smirking in the way that he knew haunted Ja’far’s dreams. He pulled Ja’far to him, pressing his lips against the pulse in his throat, closing his piercing golden eyes and taking in the feel of life coursing through Ja’far’s veins.

Pale, trembling hands were on Sinbad’s shoulders now as Ja’far felt him bite down, then begin suckling a bruise to the skin none too softly, though the large hands on his waist remained passive even as they pushed under his shirt to stroke the skin there.

Just as Ja’far decided to give in, Sinbad tensed, looking away as he became completely still for a moment. Suddenly, his yellow eyes took Ja’far’s entire gaze, the color nearly hypnotizing.

“I have to go,” Sinbad murmured with regret, though there was an edge of tension in his voice. Ja’far tried to say something, but before he could let out a sound, Sinbad’s lips were on his, his tongue in his mouth, there wasn’t enough air to breathe, and then he lay limply on Sinbad’s chair, unconsciousness finding him moments later.

He woke to screams, smoke, and chaos.


	2. Fourteen Years Ago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fourteen years before the events in the first chapter, a boy sees a God's will carried out firsthand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The warnings for this story have been updated to match the contents of this chapter. I think the chapters in this story will be kind of short, but hopefully I can get them out a little faster that way.

“Fuck.”

Ja’far punched at the trunk of the old tree before him, knocking a piece of the roughened bark to the ground.

“They…will…not…out…smart…me,” he grunted, throwing one punch and then another and another between words. His knuckles bled, but he paid neither the sting nor any sound he made any heed. This far out in the forest, only those who knew what to look for could find him, and they wouldn’t be on his trail for another couple of hours.

“…will…not…be used…” he panted, finally losing steam and falling to a crouch, his head hung low as his knuckles hit the ground. His eyes were dull and unfocused, expression blank as he just sat there, not motivated to move. Only when the sky began to darken did Ja’far finally twitch, looking up at the last glimmers of the sun as he stood and stretched his sore muscles. _She_ would need him soon. _They_ would _want_ him soon. Emotion wasn’t something _they_ wanted to see, unless it was a form of fear. 

After a few deep breaths and a whispered prayer to his patron God, Ja’far cleared his mind of all the hate and rage and half-formed plots for revenge, and he returned to the underworld from which he was born.

Red lanterns hung over doors that signified where the whores lay, casting ominous shadows across the ground and on the faces of any lurking around; Ja’far skirted around any who looked like they might want to start something ( _she_ always forbade marks on the face, after all, and he’d be beaten if he came back in a state like that), and eventually made it back to the place where he slept with some kind of peace. It was a larger, nicer building in comparison to those around it, though it was definitely still a building from the underbelly of the slums.

Ja’far made it to the communal sleeping room without incident, changed into the nice robes she liked to show them off in, and made sure his face was clean before making the decsent into the show room. There were others, all of the same age around, just as emotionless and used as he. They were always dressed up, shown off to any who might be interested, and when they were chosen they would rent their services to the lucky buyer for the night.

Of all the disgusting jobs Ja’far had been forced to perform in his short, miserable life, the whore was his least favorite.

 _She_ walked in not a minute later, addressing ‘her children’ with the nauseatingly sweet smile she always wore. “Now, my babies, my youngest and brightest…” she started, as always. “Remember: you’re only worth as much as one of those men out there will pay for you. So sit _up_ , _smile_ , and most of all, be _open_.” She fluttered her blue eyes, gracefully moved her robes as she turned, and led them out to the place where her _guests_ could pick through them. Despite her repeated warnings to avoid meeting any eyes, Ja’far quickly glanced about to see if one man in particular was within the crowd gathered there. He didn’t see that man’s face, so Ja’far relaxed slightly. That man…he’d left Ja’far bruised and unable to walk properly for over a week, he’d fractured Ja’far’s arm and hurt him so badly that even _she_ had seen that he had to be given a lighter duty. But he always paid extra, so he was always welcome…Ja’far shuddered. At least he had this night of blessed peace from the man he’d come to fear despite his vow to never give in to the creatures of the underworld, and he made a mental note to burn a prayer of thanks to Kouen when he was finished for the night. Some prayers were heeded, if one was true enough to the tenets of their God.

“Gyokuen, my darling!” One of the men shouted, no doubt about to try and haggle the price for the poor girl with the green hair he held captive to a lower amount. _She_ wouldn’t give in. _She_ never did. Even with the sweet smile and the welcoming posture, _she_ was a harpy that was not crossed by the intelligent.

A quick glance told Ja’far that there were more men than there were children. Sometimes he got lucky, sometimes nobody wanted the pale, scrawny boy with the strange gray hair, sometimes he just had to clean up after everyone left—

A large hand settled on his shoulder, and his eyes widened as he saw the robes this man wore, robes _that man_ always wore, and he didn’t have to look up to see the mask that hid his face or the piercing eyes behind it.

Some prayers, it seemed, did not make it to their intended God. Or perhaps, as Ja’far was beginning to suspect, they were simply ignored.

He was led away with a terrified acceptance written in his face, Gyokuen laughing with a wave as they disappeared.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ja’far was a broken, bleeding mess when that man straightened his robes and left without a word, the door shutting loudly behind him. Tears cut tracks through the mess on his face, and he didn’t even have the strength to berate himself about the weakness of emotion. Kouen detested weakness of any kind, he denounced those who gave in and declared them unworthy—

Then again, Kouen never answered his prayers; he was never rewarded for his perseverance or for his burning anger towards those who had wronged him. Perhaps Kouen didn’t care what other people did. Perhaps there really wasn’t anybody out there who would help him. Ja’far’s breathing became more labored at the thought, and he finally let the sobs shudder out, painful though they were. He lay there for what felt like hours, curled in on himself as best as he could manage, just trying to ride out the pain and stamp out the emotional wreckage that hurt him so much worse than any of the physical marks ever could.

Distantly, he heard shouting. Smoke…

Ja’far lifted his head as the door to the room was thrown open, though his bleary vision wouldn’t let him identify the man in the doorway. The screams were louder, now.

Was he back for more? The tears started up again.

The man moved forward, sitting gently before him even as smoke began to billow in the room, rising to the ceiling. He moved slowly with a calming hum, despite the urgency the current situation demanded, but he wiped at the mess covering Ja’far’s body with the bed sheet and covered him with something clean. He picked Ja’far up as softly as his bulk would allow, and only when he’d been lifted up high did he see how freakishly huge the man was. He could only worry about where he was being taken for a few moments before the blackness began to pinprick at the sides of his vision, his body losing strength rapidly as unconsciousness pawed at him like a hungry kitten.

He reached to the shining amulet around the man’s neck, clinging to it just before he blacked out. It was one of the Gods’ tokens, a gift showing favor…a golden symbol held by a purple cord. In the place Ja’far could see over the large man’s shoulder, a shimmering figure appeared.

 _Sinbad_ , Ja’far remembered belatedly, just as his head dropped and he fell into a blissful nonexistence.


	3. Twelve Years Ago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Twelve years before the events of the first chapter, Ja'far is given a life-changing choice.

Hinahoho was a great bulk of a man, one of the warriors of Imuchakk from far in the north. Ja’far found that it was still impossible for him to trust anybody completely, but if ever there was a man who one day might break through that barrier, it would be him. His long, blue hair hung out loosely behind him, still a bit damp from his bath earlier. He was getting dinner ready over a large campfire, humming to himself as he usually did. Ja’far wasn’t sure if he noticed this trait, and he wished he could say it was annoying, but it wasn’t; almost the opposite, actually. It was hard to get mad at the man for anything, and that was the part that made Ja’far angry.

It had been Hinahoho, after all, who had rescued him from the fires of Gyokuen’s brothel two years previous. Though the man had given Ja’far plenty of excuses to talk about his past, he had never taken the opportunity. Nothing about that life was worth mentioning ever again, and Ja’far was fine pretending it never happened. The only things he needed were his blades, and he flipped them up into his hands as the thought flitted through his mind. Upon a detailed inspection, he decided they would need to be sharpened again soon. Dull knives made for wondrous torturing devices, but an assassin’s blade was not meant to draw out pain and screams and blood. It was meant to finish the job in one clean stroke.

Ja’far turned from the fire and looked out over the endless grassy plains before them, wondering just where Hinahoho was taking them. He’d probably tell him, if Ja’far asked. But the boy just couldn’t get the words out, for whatever reason. So he remained silent, rarely answering questions with more than two words, and keeping his head down, helping with the camp and finding food and all the other menial tasks there were. He’d managed to stop flinching every time the large man had made a move that seemed threatening (standing suddenly, grabbing for something in Ja’far’s general direction, stumbling...) or perhaps Hinahoho simply tried not to scare him with his unassuming movements anymore. Whatever it was, it seemed like a false sense of security was washing over him, and Ja’far didn’t like it. Nobody ever did something for nothing. This man wanted something from him, though he hadn’t made an undesirable move toward him yet. Ja’far’s suspicion kept him from getting too close, and he liked it that way.

“Hey, why didn’t you use those?”

Ja’far turned back around, seeing that Hinahoho had finished cooking the odd looking goat and had served him a plate. Ja’far gave him a bemused look before slipping his blades away and taking the dish, eating quietly.

“Your knives, back in that manor in the slums. I’ve seen you use them; you’re obviously well trained. Why didn’t you just kill those guys that hurt you?” he asked, watching for a reaction.

Ah. Hinahoho had been trying different angles at prying information from Ja’far, and apparently tonight was simply asking bluntly. Ja’far’s expression remained impassive, though his stomach turned at the memories brought back by the thought of that house.

“They’d have killed me,” he answered simply, and truthfully, between bites. “I was in the youngest group, ten years old, and the adults would have beaten me and tortured me and made me beg to die for days before they finally killed me if I had hurt a customer.” It had been done before. Maybe the gore of the situation would give the man cause to stop asking about his past.

Hinahoho stared for a few moments before taking another bite, seemingly mulling it over. He nodded then, looking back over to the child. “You can’t trust adults very much then, can you? Why are you here with me?” he asked next, which made Ja’far grit his teeth in annoyance. He remembered why he should have stayed quiet.

“Nowhere else to go, I guess.” That, too, was true. He sure as hell wasn’t staying there, in the slums.

“I suppose that’s true enough. Who’s your patron God?” He stopped eating again, very intent on Ja’far’s answer.

It seemed a rather random question, and Ja’far shot a confused look over to the man across the fire. “…Why would that matter?” he asked eventually, not sure if he was comfortable discussing such topics. He’d spent the last few years roaming with this man unsure of how he felt about the Gods and Goddesses of the world, his faith somewhat shaken at the horrible things he’d endured with no help from any of them.

“Just curious. I’m out on a mission for one of them, you know. And I thought you might want to know about the one who saved you.”

Ja’far snorted at that, taking another bite but not saying anything.

Hinahoho cocked his head. “You don’t believe me?”

Ja’far sighed with exasperation, dropping his plate to the ground as he looked up at the man. “As soon as I could understand what the Gods and Goddesses were and what they could do for us, I prayed every day for help to escape. I obeyed the tenets, I visited the priests, I gave what I had to the temple, and what did I get out of it? Blood, pain, and misery.” He stood and began to walk away, anger and disappointment burning in his chest.

“Maybe you worshipped the wrong God,” Hinahoho called after him.

Ja’far stopped a few steps away, glancing back.

Hinahoho saw his chance and took it.

“With all that pent up anger and rage, I’m guessing you’re one of Kouen’s followers?” The silence that followed was all the confirmation he needed. “Kouen is a great God indeed, very powerful…and his teachings are useful for one who is already in a place of power.” The implication that said _and you don’t fall in that category_ rang loud and clear on the end of that sentence. 

Ja’far rolled his eyes, turning back to the campfire once more. “Yeah? And I suppose you know which God I should be following?”

Hinahoho smiled. “That’s a very personal choice, between an individual and whichever God or Goddess they choose. I would never think to tell you what you should and shouldn’t do, but I do think you should know which of them saved you from Gyokuen’s machinations.”

“A God didn’t save me that night. You did.”

“I am but an extension of his will, following the orders he gives me to their righteous ends.”

Ja’far sneered. “Sounds like you’re a brainless oaf, then.”

Hinahoho laughed, which caused Ja’far to grimace darkly. “It’s kind of sad, how cynical you are for just twelve years old. I trust in my God because he has earned that trust. The actions I take on his behalf are, in my mind, the right decisions that help the people of this world. Do you deny that I helped you? Or all the other people I’ve taken an interest in during the course of our travels together?”

Ja’far remained silent.

“It was Sinbad, if you care to know.”

Ja’far already knew what he was going to say, though. Hinahoho rarely let the amulet around his neck above his clothing, but the boy had remembered it from the night they’d met, and the sight of shimmering yellow eyes hadn’t left his memory in the years since he’d sworn he saw a man materialize out of thin air. He’d been falling unconscious however, and told himself it was all a hallucination of some kind. The Gods and Goddesses of the world didn’t truly care about the humans. That had been proven by the first ten years of his life.

“He heard a prayer from one of the girls’ fathers, a plea to save his daughter and the other poor children whose fate she shared in those horrid slums,” Hinahoho continued, oblivious to Ja’far’s inner turmoil. “Nobility is a quality of heroism, after all, and Sinbad could hardly let such injustice continue when a loyal follower begged for his help. I was sent in with a few others to drive out the filth, and rescue the innocent.”

“I don’t know what you count as innocent, but it’s not me.” Ja’far had turned to face the plains again, the sun falling down below the horizon. Dusk set in, the fire becoming brighter by the minute. The shadows played tricks on Ja’far’s eyes, making him blink as he saw images dancing in the darkness before him.

Though Ja’far couldn’t see it, Hinahoho shrugged, knowing that a person’s opinions on such matters are rooted into their very beings, and could not be changed in a single conversation. “Whatever you choose to believe. I am not here to make you think one way or the other; I simply wished to give you another chance at life.” With that, he cleaned up the campsite and retired to the tent, leaving the fire roaring.

Ja’far was staring at the grass, mulling over the words for quite some time. It was only when he heard the familiar obnoxious snoring that he glanced over to the tent, contempt written in his expression.

Surprise made him jump and pull his blades out in record time when he saw a man sitting on Ja’far’s side of the fire, the flames behind him making for a daunting outline. His features were sharp and easy to see despite the darkness, and the way his skin shone was unnatural. But the long, dark hair, and…yellow eyes…

“Ja’far,” he said with a smile. “I think we should have a conversation that’s quite overdue,” he said simply.

The boy remained motionless, still in an attack stance as his heart beat a million miles a minute. Usually, the adrenaline kept his mind focused, but right now he was battling the fight or flight reflex, and his mind couldn’t make itself up.

“My name is Sinbad,” he introduced himself unnecessarily, raising a hand slowly. “I can see I’ve startled you, and with your permission I will calm you down enough to think clearly,” he said gently, trying not to scare him further. Immediately, he began to relax, his arms falling to his sides as he regarded the man…the God before him.

After a few moments, Ja’far answered with as much annoyance as he could muster, “With my permission? I didn’t say anything.”

Sinbad laughed. “You didn’t run, either. I really do need to talk to you, and I must make some allowances. I’ve little time here on the mortal plane right now, but I’m trying to be as courteous as possible regardless.” He motioned to come closer, but Ja’far remained where he was. Sinbad sighed, not surprised.

“I know you are hesitant to trust anybody at this point in your life,” Ja’far snorted at that, “but if you are willing, there are things you could do to help others in situations similar to the one you were in not very long ago.” Sinbad looked down, a frown crossing his handsome features. “I can’t help each individual in this world, though I sorely wish I could. That’s why I have my followers carry out my plans.” He looked at Ja’far expectantly.

“I’m not one of your followers,” the boy answered after a few heartbeats. “I don’t even know your teachings,” he said as if it were obvious.

The breeze pulled at Sinbad’s robes, bringing a buzz of power as they moved to brush past Ja’far. The God smiled, dropping his chin in a hand. “I know. And I’m not going to pressure you to change doctrines either, before you accuse me of that next. I am here tonight for one purpose: to offer you a new opportunity. I know you’ve followed Hinahoho around these past several years and you haven’t left to go back to your old ways just yet, despite the ample opportunities in the many cities you’ve visited. I like to think that means something.” He looked up at the stars in the sky, causing Ja’far to follow his gaze. “Humans have a very unique existence here in this world,” he continued, “and unfortunately some use their good fortune to hold power over others.”

Sinbad stood then, walking over to Ja’far and kneeling down before him so that they were of the same height. “People say many things of me, but I cannot stand by and watch the suffering of those who do not deserve it.” He put a hand up to Ja’far’s cheek, letting him feel the charge of the power within him. “If you believe as I do, then you are more than welcome within my house, no matter your past or what you think you deserve.”

Ja’far’s eyes shot open at those last words, causing Sinbad to smile; he saw right through him.

“Only if it is something you wish,” he whispered, leaning forward and letting his hair brush against Ja’far’s face. He stood then, walking away into the darkness. “Take your time, think it over, and decide what it is you wish to accomplish with your limited time in this world,” he said, the words echoing in the boy’s ears.

Then he was alone. Hinahoho’s snores were suddenly deafening, causing him to jump and look towards the tent. After a few tense moments of stillness, Ja’far moved robotically to put the fire out, and then to the mouth of the tent. He lifted the flap, but hesitated before moving to go inside.

He looked back out to the rolling plains beyond the campsite, out toward where Sinbad had disappeared. There was only darkness to greet his gaze, but he felt eyes upon him even as he saw nothing in eyesight. He worried his lip with his teeth for a moment before turning and crawling inside the tent, the flap falling in place behind him.


	4. Smoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After waking to screams and smoke, Ja'far must decide his next course of action.

When Ja’far awoke, there was smoke gathering up near the ceiling, the smell nearly overpowering him and sending him into a panic for a few moments before he gathered his surroundings. He wasn’t a child stuck in a brothel despite the similarity to that situation so many years ago, he was a priest—and his God’s temple was on fire. He stood quickly, foregoing the ceremonial robes for the sake of mobility, moving quickly to the large stone doors. The entirety of the inner sanctum was made of bleached stone, and therefore it was entirely fireproof; more than likely that was why Sinbad had left him unconscious in a burning building. The same could not be said for the rest of the temple, however, and so Ja’far quickly unlocked and heaved at the doors to get them open before slipping quickly beyond them.

The screams were coming from outside of the building, as most of the temple’s inhabitants had escaped quickly enough. There were multiple entrances and exits, but Ja’far did a quick check to be sure he was the last one out. Just as he got to the antechamber leading to his nearest exit, he finally understood that there was more angry shouting than there was screaming. He paused, taking a few moments to listen to the chanting (with a glance to the ceiling, making sure it wouldn’t promptly fall on him).

It was the Chant of Fire, a sacred hymn praying for power, strength of will, and the ability to conquer. Ja’far grimaced, trying not to think about where this was leading and instead trying to narrow down who would so brazenly attack a holy place of worship. There were several Gods and Goddesses who were held up by the pillar of Fire, but their names escaped him as his mind uselessly recounted the eight pillars of magical ability: Life, Light, Sound, Lightning, Fire, Water, Strength, and Wind. (Darkness was also a type of magic that could be used, but it was forbidden for very obvious reasons.) Sinbad had seven of the pillars, and the fact that he was balanced by so many was one of the more popular reasons people were keen to make him their patron God. Kouen had three, and the rest of the Gods and Goddesses had but one. 

None of that information helped whatsoever. Ja’far squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated, trying to decide if running into an angry mob would be safer than staying in a burning building. It all came down to whose mob was waiting for him…there were three that were possibilities, other Gods of Fire whom had been in conflict with Sinbad recently, though he threw one out immediately. Solomon didn’t really count; he was on a whole other level, one of the few things that Sinbad did not want to talk about other than to say he rarely meddled in the other Gods’ affairs. That left Alibaba and Kouen that were attuned to the Fire pillar if Sinbad himself wasn’t counted, and because there was a zero chance that he would order anybody to harm the innocent—let alone his own worshippers—he had to decide between the last two. Alibaba had been a nuisance to Sinbad recently, or so he had told Ja’far…it seemed that he had been aligning more with Kouen in recent days, despite the fact that Sinbad had apparently been looking out for him since “his beginning,” whatever that meant. And considering that Alibaba had often been described as a foolish, whimsical child by a God who rarely spoke ill of others…well.

That left only Kouen.

Ja’far’s expression darkened further, as he came to the conclusion he knew he would find anyway. Kouen had seemed insistent about speaking with him recently, though he hadn’t seemed to intend any harm…then again, Ja’far never expected him to order his followers to burn down another God’s temple. Who knew what they would do to its high priest? Ja’far grit his teeth, looking up to the quickly burning ceiling with a look of eternal suffering written in his expression as he thought a few choice words toward Sinbad, before turning tail and reentering the main chamber of his temple. Ja’far dodged falling debris, his robes pulled over his mouth and nose so that he could breathe, though his eyes were burning from the heat and smoke. Luckily, he knew the temple better than any other place he’d ever lived.

After kicking the smoldering remains of a desk aside, Ja’far lifted a decorative rug to reveal a hidden door leading underground. He dug his fingers into the nearly invisible groove between floor and door and lifted the large slab of wood high so that he could slip beneath. The door closed slowly above him, and Ja’far found himself in darkness. There were stairs leading further down under ground, and the sudden chill as compared to the heat of the flames made Ja’far shiver, pulling his robes closer to him as he made his careful descent.

He knew when he was nearly halfway there because only then did the fluorescent moss begin to grow on the walls, offering some light to his journey. He had only made this trek once, and only partway then, with Sinbad to guide him after he’d cleared the temple out by his God’s orders. Nobody but the most loyal were to know about this most sacred of places for Sinbad, though he had never gotten a straight answer about what lay beyond the great doors at the end of the tunnel. They appeared before him, standing grand and tall, though simple in design. Ancient, if Ja’far had to put a date on them. Perhaps they simply withstood any label time could have for them, instead immortal structures like the God they served silently.

Ja’far swallowed unconsciously, stepping forward to press his hands to the smooth side of the doors before him. He knew which words to speak, as Sinbad had given him instructions in case of an emergency...and if this wasn’t an emergency, then he had no idea what was. Ja’far took a deep breath, exhaling the words in a whisper as he pushed gently at the sturdy doors before him.

“Open Sesame.”

They swung inward silently, gliding with grace that Ja’far would never expect of stone. When he stepped forward, he found himself bewildered by the room around him. It was not grand, or filled with treasures or women or heaps of silks or pelts—hell, he’d even imagined some kind of a winery, barrels upon barrels of the stuff kept for Sinbad’s own pleasure. The reality was so starkly different that Ja’far wasn’t even sure what to make of it.

There was simply a fountain with a base wide enough to sit upon, water spouting from the top and dribbling down several levels to collect in the basin at the bottom. The room’s size was indefinite due to the darkness, but it did not appear to be the enormous, lavish room he had imagined for years after he’d been taken to the doors.

Ja’far moved forward uncertainly, biting his lip as he looked around. A distant crack sounded through the tunnel and into the room, making Ja’far jump and turn towards the entrance, but the doors had closed themselves as silently as they’d opened, offering no insight to what was happening in the hallway—not that the moss offered enough light to really see anyway. There was enough to see the fountain in the room, but only because it seemed to be mostly in the water. Ja’far could not see the walls in any direction but the one behind him, and such mystery made him very uncomfortable.

“It was just the last part of the temple collapsing from above ground,” Sinbad’s voice said quietly.

Ja’far spun again, surprised at his God’s sudden appearance. And what an appearance he had.

He was worse for wear, his hair out of its usual tie and his robes torn and displaced. Overall, Sinbad appeared tired and disheveled, an exhaustion in him that the Gods and Goddesses simply never seemed to get like humans did…well, except for now. Ja’far’s eyes widened before he rushed over to the fountain, where his God sat.

“Sin…what happened? What’s going on?” he asked, kneeling before him and taking one of his large hands in both of his own. “They…it’s all gone, they burned everything…” Ja’far was many things, but nostalgic was hardly a word he’d use to describe himself. Still, the temple had been his home for many years now, and to see it so easily destroyed…it made his heart ache.

Sinbad curled his fingers within Ja’far’s before raising it out of his grasp and to his face, cupping a freckled cheek as he spoke forlornly.

“Kouen has finally made a move…a rather drastic first move against me, and one I cannot forgive for those who have perished due to his fiery jealousy and hatred.” His words didn’t echo in the chamber as Ja’far’s did, a detail the priest’s scattered mind picked up and filed away for later. The differences between men and Gods had always fascinated him.

“And you…what will we do? He’s going to try and terrify others into converting to his own doctrine…he’ll make people afraid of worshipping you, there’s no other reason for such a display of destruction,” Ja’far said, his voice breaking into a whisper at the end.

Sinbad merely nodded in agreement. “We’re headed for some very difficult times ahead…I’m going to need you to do much more than educate for this next while. Are you ready?” He pulled Ja’far gently up so that they were sitting side by side on the fountain’s base, their eyes meeting intently.

“I will perform any task you give me with pleasure,” Ja’far answered, the lack of the usual intoxicating aura making him very nervous for his God’s wellbeing. He scooted closer, throwing his legs over Sinbad’s lap and moving so that their faces were only inches apart. “How badly has he hurt you?” he asked, his hands smoothing over the violet tresses of his hair, gently detangling any knots he found.

Sinbad’s eyes closed as he let Ja’far brush through his hair, enjoying the soft touch on his scalp as much as the warm thighs on his lap. “I was caught rather unawares,” he started slowly. “I sensed something amiss when I was visiting you earlier, and that was my reason for leaving you so suddenly. I never suspected Kouen to make such a brash move…though I am glad I left you in the sanctum, as I hadn’t the ability to see you safely away after I was gone. I am glad you woke quickly enough to escape to this place…” he trailed off, his amber eyes opening just enough to lid seductively at his priest. He leaned forward and placed a lingering kiss on Ja’far’s lips, the gesture welcomed wholeheartedly by the other. “It makes me happier than I can describe.”

Ja’far breathed out shakily, his eyes opening again when Sinbad leaned back once more. “And…what exactly is this place?” he asked, unable to stop the slight fluttering of his eyelids.

A sigh left Sinbad’s lungs as he leaned back, looking about the room with what might have been nostalgia, or perhaps a more melancholic emotion. After a few moments, he looked to Ja’far with that piercing gaze, his expression unreadable once more. 

“This is the place where I died.”


	5. Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After escaping the smoldering ruins of the temple, Ja'far continues his journey.

Ja’far blinked, bemusement replacing the concern in his expression.

“…Is that a joke? Because I don’t get it.” His brow furrowed as he leaned back a bit, trying to find any kind of hint at what his God was implying. Sinbad’s face remained impassive, however, and that served only to plant a seed of frustration in his chest.

Sinbad let out a heavy sigh before bringing a hand up into his priest’s snowy hair, marveling as always at how soft it was, and ignoring the strong scent of smoke that clung to every part of him.

“You don’t truly think the Gods and Goddesses of this world have no beginning and no end, do you? Everything must have a starting point, and so eventually it will have an end. Sometimes, however, fate sees reason to give you a choice to another path…another chance.” The look in Sinbad’s eyes was distant and melancholy, and the things he spoke of made Ja’far very nervous…though why, he couldn’t say.

“Such things are immaterial right now, however,” he continued, his amber eyes snapping back to Ja’far’s. “There are more important things we must speak of; time is short, and we’ve no end of work to do now that Kouen has attacked.”

Ja’far was listening, but the gears in his mind were still trying to process the things Sinbad had spoken of moments before.

“Yes, of course…but…” his brow furrowed as he searched for the words, “are you saying…the Gods and Goddesses are not holy deities?” he finished slowly, looking back up to Sinbad’s gaze.

A groan left the God’s throat as he leaned back with his hands on the lip of the fountain behind where he sat, letting his weight fall there. “I said no such thing—now please, let it leave your mind and focus on the task at hand; I cannot function half so well without your help here on the mortal plane.” He sat up straight again, his tone becoming more serious as he continued. “I need you to fight for me here, so that I may do what is necessary on the celestial plane. Will you do that for me?” he asked softly, cupping both hands around Ja’far’s face and staring straight into his eyes.

Ja’far nodded silently, noting that his God’s aura was returning rapidly, causing his face to heat up and his vision to become slightly unfocused.

“Good,” Sinbad smiled, though the mirth in his expression was limited. “The closest allies we have lie to the east, in Artemyra. One of your direct subordinates keeps the temple there, does she not?”

Ja’far blinked, putting effort into ignoring the aura of his God. “Yes, Pisti…I will contact her—and all the others, too—as soon as I am able. I will go to her first, however.” Artemyra…it was a country he hadn’t visited for over a decade, but he remembered the customs well enough to at least get himself to the temple…assuming that it, too, had not been reduced to smoldering ruins.

Ja’far shook that thought from his head. “We must move quickly.”

“Yes,” Sinbad agreed, smoothing a wayward strand of hair behind one of Ja’far’s ears. “I agree. Do be careful…promise me? I will intrude on your dreams whenever possible, but I cannot guarantee the frequency nor how soon I will be able to contact you again.” His expression bled into a leer for a moment, leaning forward to press a kiss to his priest’s nose. “Just because I won’t be there physically, doesn’t mean we can’t have any fun, eh?”

Ja’far grimaced, though there was no real malice behind it. “I would prefer to leave that kind of thing for more stable conditions.” He stood, backing up a few paces and regaining his composure with the aura of his God lessened. “Whatever it is that you must do…you mustn’t make any brash or unnecessary moves. He will be expecting an attack in return, but we cannot give him that satisfaction.”

Sinbad cocked his head to the side, a sort of amused smile taking his expression. “Sometimes I forget how much autonomy you’ve gained through the years,” he chuckled. After a moment he stood and stretched his arms over his head, the subtle glow returned along with his overpowering aura. “Do not worry for me; whatever happens, I shall persevere. I have many allies to rely upon up there, so worry more about yourself and staying _hidden_ during your travels. I will be most displeased if you join me on the celestial plane before you finish your tasks down here.”

Pale hands clasped together as Ja’far bowed his head in respect. “I shall do my best. I will go to the temple in Artemyra…will you inform any of the others, or should I use my network to try and send them messages?” he asked, a slight pang of worry pulling at his heart for the other priests scattered about the world.

“I will get word to Hinahoho, Drakon and Masrur before I move on to the other tasks that await me. If I can find her, I will inform Yamuraiha…do be careful using magical artefacts; they can be traced, as you well know. Last resort only.” With that, Sinbad raised an arm and gestured toward the back wall, where flames suddenly burst to life in ancient brackets to the sides of a previously hidden door. “There is a stairway beyond that door that will take you to the forest near the temple…or what remains of it.” Sinbad paused for a moment, a dark look crossing his expression before he continued. “From there, you can make your way to the harbor. I’m confident you can find a ship to take you across the sea.”

Ja’far nodded, bowing once more. “I will fulfill your requests. Please…contact me when you can.” He could feel the blush creeping up to his cheeks, and knew that his God would be able to see it with ease.

Sinbad smiled, moving forward to hold Ja’far’s face in his hands. “You are always first on my mind.” He leaned down to kiss the other deeply for a few moments, pulling back reluctantly. “I will inform you of the situation as soon as I am able. Now, you must hasten to the docks…I fear we’ve used time we don’t have.” He pushed Ja’far toward the doorway in the back of the room, urging him forward until he felt the press of air behind him signaling the closing of the room behind him, and his God’s exit from the mortal plane.

With a deep breath, Ja’far moved quickly, jumping up the stairs before him and hurrying toward whatever chaos awaited him next.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After sneaking his way past several angry groups of Kouen’s supporters in the city, Ja’far managed to make it to the harbor. He flashed a few gold coins and he found himself in a cramped little room in the belly of a merchant’s ship headed out to the neighboring country and his destination, Artemyra. From the little news he picked up while skirting around the mobs patrolling the city, it appeared as though Kouen’s worshippers had rounded up a large amount of Sinbad’s followers and were holding them captive. To what end…Ja’far did not want to contemplate it, but his mind had already begun to predict the gory details. If the fragments of rumors he’d heard were true, they had already executed several people to make their point, to instill that initial fear in the hearts of those who named Sinbad their patron God.

More than anything else, it _offended_ Ja’far, to think that a group of mere humans would take such a stand against his God, whom had done nothing to warrant such a response.

Ja’far fell back on the small cot in a room in the belly of the ship, hugging the cloak he’d stolen to cover his robes and rather unique hair color closer to himself. It would be several days until they made port, and he had nothing to do until then—his weapons were as sharp as they would ever be, and using a magical tool to contact the others would be like sending out a homing beacon to all of his enemies, shouting his location to all the people who were undoubtedly searching for him. After so much adrenaline and paranoia, he was exhausted, and so he let himself relax into a rather uneasy sleep, a pale hand clutching at one of his blades as his eyes closed.

Of course, nothing was ever so easy as a quiet rest.

Ja’far’s eyes opened and he found himself in a room decorated in red, gold and black, fires roaring in pits and on torches lit around the circular room. It was shaped much like what the inner sanctum of Sinbad’s temple had been when it was still standing.

Ja’far had been to this place in his dreams before, and he knew who would be sitting in the throne at the front of the lavish room.

“Kouen,” he addressed the God informally with a glare. To hell with it—after as much grief and pain as the deity before him had caused, manners were the least of Ja’far’s worries.

“High Priest,” he answered in kind, a small smirk on his lips. “I’m glad to see you made it out of that… _mess_.”

A disbelieving snort was Ja’far’s first response, and he narrowed his gray eyes. “A mess that you created, according to your worshippers. I know that you and Sinbad have a vast amount of differences, but a war among Gods…and dragging humans into it? The humans that _worship_ you? That doesn’t seem very godlike to me.”

“Such cheek, for one so insignificant in comparison to myself,” Kouen murmured, though there was amusement in his gaze, akin to how one watches a monkey perform on the street. “Sinbad knew this would happen eventually, if he kept provoking me. I merely gave him what he so obviously wanted.”

“Insignificant? Then why do you keep trying to sway me from his side and toward yours? I am not a toy to fight over, and neither are the other people on the mortal plane!” he yelled, feeling heat begin to form an angry flush on his face. “Sinbad would never start a war and drag the people who depend on him into killing and maiming others just to prove a point!”

Kouen’s fiery glare paired with a burst of his aura caused Ja’far to falter, legs failing while silencing him temporarily. He lifted a hand to stroke at the goatee he kept on his chin, his expression fading to something close to pity. “It sounds to me as though you don’t know the God you worship very well at all. Not only would Sinbad sacrifice _anybody_ he deemed necessary, but he _has_ before, on several occasions. Shall I recount a history for you?” Kouen inquired with a mirthless half-smile. “I think _you_ would find it particularly interesting.”

Ja’far had fallen onto one knee, refusing to lower himself any further before another God despite the strength of the aura pressing him down. “You’ll say anything to have me turn against him, and I won’t.” He leveled a determined glower into Kouen’s eyes, causing the other to cock his head slightly.

“You truly believe every word he speaks, don’t you…?” he murmured softly, almost to himself. “I will tell you something, and you will think about it regardless of any protests you give me. You are not a toy being pulled between Gods, but a very integral piece in this proverbial game of chess we immortals play over and over again…and you, and the other priests and humans of this world, are being moved how we see fit—as countless others have been manipulated before you. But mind this, human: the moment you lose your importance is the moment you are knocked from the board. You may be able to move in every direction now, but you will soon find the world a great deal less hospitable place than you are used to.”

Ja’far smirked, but there was no mirth behind his expression. “You really didn’t hear any of my prayers from over a decade ago, did you?” he chuckled hollowly. “I know just how cruel the world can be. And if I am one of the queens in this ridiculous game of chess, moving any direction I see fit, then my job is ultimately to protect the king—and I will do so, no matter what fallacies you try to feed me.”

Kouen was frowning by the end of Ja’far’s declaration, displeasure radiating out in his powerful aura. “Ridiculous,” he said softly. “Even after a millennia, nothing changes.” He stood suddenly, looking down on Ja’far’s still-crumpled form, moving forward until he was inches away and kneeling down to take the priest’s chin in a hand and forcing their gazes to meet. His crimson eyes were wide and intent, a crazed fascination exuding from his form and nearly suffocating the man before him.

“You will bow to me by the end of this, Ja’far, and you will revel in your subservience.”

Ja’far’s eyes opened as he sat up suddenly, gasping and pulling at the sweat-soaked robes clinging to his skin. He swallowed and looked around with wide eyes, his gaze flitting around the dark room in search of danger. The gentle rocking of the ship along with the tiny cot jogged his memory, and Ja’far relaxed—as much as was possible. Blades in hand, he moved to curl up in a corner, eyes ever on the door as he resigned himself to wait out the rest of the journey to Artemyra without any further rest.


End file.
